“No.”
“Then what are you crying for?”
“I have a—a pain.”
“You shouldn’t eat highly spiced foods like ravioli.”
“No, that was a mistake.” Ben’s voice was a rag of a whisper torn off a scream. “I’ll try to make it up to you, Charlie.”
“To me? But it’s your pain.”
“We share it. Just like in the old days, Charlie, when we shared everything. Remember how my friends used to kid me about my little brother always tagging along? I never minded, I liked having you tag along. Well, it will be like that again, Charlie. I’ll drive you to work in the morning, you can walk over to the cafeteria and have lunch with me at noon—”
“I have my own car,” Charlie said. “And sometimes Louise and I prefer to have lunch together.”
“Louise’s lunch hour is going to be changed. It probably won’t jibe with yours anymore.”
“She didn’t tell me that.”
“She will. As for the car, it seems wasteful to keep two of them running when I can just as easily drive you wherever you want to go. Let’s try it for a while and see how it works out. Maybe we can save enough money to take a trip somewhere.”
“Louise and I are going to take a trip on our honeymoon.”
“That might not be for some time.”
“Louise said September, next month.”
“Well, things are a little hectic at the library right now, Charlie. There’s a chance she might not—she might not be able to get away.”
“Why does Louise tell you stuff before she tells me? Explain it to me, Ben.”
“Not tonight.”
“Because of your pain?”
“Yes, my pain,” Ben said. “I want you to give me your car keys now, Charlie.”
Charlie put his left hand in the pocket of his trousers. He could feel the outline of the keys, the round one for the trunk, the pointed one for the ignition. “I must have left them in the car.”
“I’ve warned you a dozen times about that.”
“I’m sorry, Ben. I’ll go and get them.”
“No. I will.”
Charlie watched him leave. He hadn’t planned it like this, in fact he had planned nothing beyond the writing of the letter. But now that he saw his opportunity he couldn’t resist it any more than a caged animal could resist an open gate. He picked up his windbreaker and went quietly through the kitchen and out of the back door.
(22)
Ralph MacPherson was preparing for an early bedtime when the telephone rang. He reached for it quickly, afraid that it would be Kate calling and afraid that it wouldn’t. He hadn’t heard from her all day and her parting words that morning had been hostile as if she hadn’t forgiven him for doubting her story about Brant and Mrs. Arlington.
“Hello.”
“This is Gallantyne, Mac.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I had a couple of hours this afternoon. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m worried about me, not you. I was just going to bed. What’s up?”
“I’m calling to return a favor,” Gallantyne said. “You let me read the anonymous letter Kate Oakley received, so I’ll let you read one that was brought to me tonight if you’ll come down to my office.”
“I’ve had more tempting offers.”
“Don’t bet on it. The two letters were written by the same man.”
“I’ll be right down,” Mac said and hung up.
Gallantyne was alone in the cubicle he called an office. He showed no signs of the fatigue that Mac felt weighing down his limbs and dulling his eyes.
The letter was spread out on the desk with a goosenecked lamp turned on it. It was printed, like the one Kate Oakley had received, and it had been folded in the same way, many times, as though the writer was unconsciously ashamed of it and had compressed it into as small a package as possible. An envelope lay beside it, with the words Police Department printed on it. It bore no stamp.
Mac said, “How did you get hold of this?”
“It was dropped in the mail slot beside the front door of headquarters about two hours ago. The head janitor was just coming in to adjust the hot-water heater and he saw the man who put the letter in the slot. He gave me a good description.”
“Who was it?”
“Charles Gowen,” Gallantyne said. “Surprised?”
“I’m surprised at the crazy chances he took, delivering the letter himself, making no effort to alter his printing or the way he folded the paper.”
“What kind of people take chances like that, Mac?”
“The ones who want to be caught.”
Gallantyne leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. In the center of it, the shadow of the lampshade was like a black moon in a white sky. “I checked his record. It goes back a long way and he’s been treated since then, both at Coraznada State Hospital and privately. But a record’s a record. When a man’s had cancer, the doctors can’t ignore his medical history. Well, this is cancer, maybe worse. Gowen’s had it, and I think he has it again. Read the letter.”
It was briefer than the first one.
To the Police:
I was driving along Cielito Lane last night at 10:30 and
I know you are Bad about which house Jessie came out of. It was the house next door on the west side. They will keep me a prisoner now so I can never tell you this in person but it is True.
A Witness
P.S. Jessie is my fiend.
Mac read it again, wondering who “they” were; the brother, probably, and the woman Mr. Forster the druggist had mentioned, Gowen’s fiancée.
Gallantyne was watching him with eyes as hard and bright as mica.
“Interesting document, wouldn’t you say? Notice the capitalizations, Bad and True. And the postscript.”
“I suppose he intended to write ‘friend’ and omitted the ‘r.’”
“I think so.”
“And by ‘Bad’ I gather he means wrong.”
“Yes. The house next door on the west side belongs to the Arlingtons.” Gallantyne leaned forward and moved the lamp to one side, twisting the shade. The black moon slid down the white sky and disappeared. “As soon as the letter came, I sent Corcoran over to Gowen’s house. The brother was there, Ben, and Gowen’s girlfriend, Louise Lang. Gowen was missing. The brother and girlfriend claimed they didn’t know where he’d gone, but according to Corocoran, they were extremely nervous and what they weren’t saying, they were thinking. Anyway, I gave the word for Gowen to be picked up for questioning.”
“Do you believe what he said in his letter about Jessie coming out of the Arlingtons’ house?”
“Well, it seems to fit in with Mrs. Oakley’s story that Mrs. Arlington and Brant were something more than neighbors.”
“I’ve told you before, you can’t afford to take Kate too seriously. She frequently thinks the worst of people, especially if they have any connection in her mind with Sheridan.”
“The letter tends to support her statement.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Then you’re not looking. And the reason you’re not looking is obvious—Kate Oakley. You’re doing your best, in a quiet way, to keep her out of this case.”
“That’s a false conclusion,” Mac said. “When a statement in a letter showing certain signs of disturbance is supported by the word of a woman who shows similar signs, it doesn’t mean both are right because they agree. It could mean that neither is right.”
“You want more evidence? O.K., let’s gather some.” Gallantyne got up, the swivel chair squawking in protest at the sudden, violent movement. “I’m going to talk to Brant. Coming with me?”
“No. I prefer to get some sleep.”
“Look, I don’t want to be dragged into this thing any further.”
“You dragged yourself in, Mac. You didn’t come here tonight out of idle curiosity or because anyone forced you. You’re here on the chance that you might be able to help Kate Oakley. Why don’t you admit it? Every time you mention her name, I see it in your face and hear it in your voice, that anxious, protective—”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Maybe not, but when I’m working with somebody I want to be sure he’s working with me and not against me on behalf of a woman he’s in love with.”
“Now you’re telling me I’m in love with her.”
“I figure somebody should. You’re a little slow about some things, Mac. No hard feelings, I hope?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.”
“Then let’s go.”
The Brant house was all dark except for a light above the front door and a lamp burning behind the heavily draped windows of the living room.
Gallantyne pressed the door chime and waited. For the first time since Mac had known him, he looked doubtful, as if he’d just realized that he was about to do something he wouldn’t approve of anyone else doing, dealing another blow to a man already reeling.
“Sure, it’s a dirty business,” he said, as much to himself as to Mac. “But it’s got to be done. It’s my job to save the kid, not spare the feelings of the family and the neighbors. And by God, I think the whole damn bunch of them have been holding out on me.”
“If the only way you can handle this situation is to get mad,” Mac said, “all right, get mad. But watch your step. The fact that Brant’s daughter is missing doesn’t deprive him of his rights, both legal and human.”
“How I feel now is nobody has any rights until that kid is found alive and kicking.”
“That’s dangerous talk coming from a policeman. If you ignore Brant’s rights, or Gowen’s, you’re giving people an invitation to ignore yours.”
Gallantyne pressed the door chime again, harder and longer this time, although the answering tinkle was no louder and no faster. “I’m sick of a little lie here and a little lie there. Gowen’s in the picture all right, but he’s only part of it. I want the rest, the whole works in living color. Why did Mrs. Arlington claim the kid didn’t go to her house?”
“Gowen might be the one who’s lying, or mistaken.”
“I repeat, his statement jibes with Kate Oakley’s.”
“It’s not necessary to drag Kate into—”
“Mrs. Oakley dragged herself in, the same way you did. She volunteered that information about Brant. Nobody asked her, nobody had to pump it out of her. She’s in, Mac, and she’s in because she wanted to be in.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? Maybe she needs a little excitement in her life—though that should be your department, shouldn’t it?”
“That’s a crude remark.”
“So I’m having a crude night. It happens in my line of work, you get a lot of crude nights.”
A light went on in the hall and a few seconds later Dave Brant opened the door. He was still wearing the clothes he’d had on the previous night, jeans and a sweatshirt, dirty and covered with bloodstains now dried to the color of chocolate. The hand he’d injured in a fall was covered with a bandage that looked as though he’d put it on himself.
He was gray-faced, gray-voiced. “Is there any news?”
Gallantyne shook his head. “Sorry. May we come in?”
“I guess so.”
“You remember Mr. MacPherson, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, Mr. Brant.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“There may be one or two little items you forgot.” Gallantyne closed the door. “Or overlooked. Are you alone in the house?”
“I sent my son Michael to spend the night with a friend. My wife is asleep. The doctor was here half an hour ago and gave her a shot.”
“Did he give you anything?”
“Some pills. I didn’t take any of them. I want to be alert in case—in case they find Jessie and she needs me. I may have to drive somewhere and pick her up, perhaps several hundred miles away.”
“I suggest you take the pills. Any picking up can be done by the police—”
“No. I’m her father.”
“—in fact, must be done by the police. If Jessie turns up now, at this stage, it won’t simply be a matter of putting her to bed and telling her to forget the whole thing.”
“You mean she will be questioned?”
“She will be questioned if she’s physically and mentally able to answer.”
“Don’t say that, don’t—”
“You asked.”
Gallantyne hesitated, glancing uneasily at Mac. The hesitation, and the doubt in his eyes, made it clear to Mac why he’d been invited to come along. Gallantyne needed his support; he was getting older, more civilized; he’d learned to see both sides of a situation and the knowledge was destroying his appetite for a fight.
“Perhaps we’d all better go in the living room and sit down,” Mac said. “You must be tired, Mr. Brant.”
“No. No, I’m alert, I’m very alert.”
“Come on.”
The single lamp burning in the living room was behind an imitation leather chair. On the table beside the chair, pictures of Jessie were spread out: a christening photograph taken when she was a baby, classroom pictures, snaps of Jessie with Michael, with her parents, with the Arlingtons’ dog; Mary Martha and Jessie, arms self-consciously entwined, standing on a bridge; Jessie on the beach, on her bicycle, in a hammock reading a book.
Silently, Dave bent down and began gathering up the pictures as if to shield Jessie from the eyes of strangers. Gallantyne waited until they were all returned to their folders. Then he said, “You asked me before, Mr. Brant, if I had any news. I told you I hadn’t, and that’s true enough. I do have something new, though. A man claims to have seen Jessie at 10:30 last night.”
“Where?”
“Coming out of the Arlingtons’ house. Would you know anything about that, Mr. Brant?”
“Yes.”
“What, for instance?”
“It’s not—not true.”
“Now why do you say that? You weren’t anywhere around at that time, were you? I understand you were out searching for Mr. Arlington, who’d left here after a quarrel with his wife.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
“A few bars, some cafés.”
“And after that?”
“Home.”
“Whose home?”
Dave turned his head away. “Well, I naturally had to check in at Virg—at Mrs. Arlington’s house to tell her I hadn’t been able to find Howard.”
“This checking in,” Gallantyne said softly, “was it pretty involved? Time-consuming?”
“I told her the places where I had looked for Howard.”
“It took you exactly two seconds to tell me.”
“We discussed a few other things, too. She was worried about Howard, he’d been acting peculiarly all evening.”
“In what way?”
“He seemed jealous of the attention Virginia paid to Jessie.”
“Did he have any other cause for jealousy?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“It’s a simple enough question, surely.”
“Well, I can’t answer it. I don’t know what was going on in Howard’s mind.”
“I’m talking about your mind, Mr. Brant.”
“I’ve—I’ve forgotten the question. I’m—you’re c
onfusing me.”
“Sorry,” Gallantyne said. “I’ll put it another way. How did you feel when Mr. Arlington walked out of here last night?”
“We were all upset by it. Howard had never done anything like that before.”
“What time did he leave?”
“Between 9:30 and ten.”
“What happened after that?”
“I took Virginia home. Then I decided I’d better try and find Howard.”
“You decided, not Mrs. Arlington?”
“It was my idea. She was too depressed to be thinking clearly.”
“Depressed. I see. Did you attempt to cheer her up in any way?”
“I went looking for her husband.”
“And you returned to her house at what time?”
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t wearing a watch.”
“Well, let’s try and figure it out, shall we? You know what time you discovered Jessie missing from her room.”
“Eleven. She has a clock beside her bed.”
“Very well. At ten, your wife retired for the night. Half an hour later Jessie was seen leaving the Arlington house.
Dave kept shaking his head back and forth. “No, I told you that’s not true. It’s a—a terrible impossibility.”
“Impossibilities can’t be terrible, Mr. Brant. By definition, they don’t exist. Possibilities are a different matter. They can happen, and they can be quite terrible, like the one you’re seeing now.”
“No. I don’t, I won’t.”
“You have to,” Gallantyne said. “I suggest that Jessie went over to the Arlingtons’ place between ten and 10:30. The house was always open to her, she could come and go as she liked, according to Mrs. Arlington. She entered by the back door —”
“No. It was locked, it must have been locked.”
“Did you lock it yourself?”
“No.”
“That was a pretty serious mistake, wasn’t it, Brant? Or are you so casual about that sort of thing you don’t mind an onlooker?”
“She didn’t see us, she couldn’t—”
“I think she did. She saw her father, and the woman she called her aunt, in an attitude that shocked and frightened her so badly that she dashed out into the street. I don’t know what was in her mind, perhaps nothing more than a compulsion to escape from that scene. I do know there was a man waiting for her in a car. Perhaps he’d been waiting a long time, and for many nights previously, but that was the night that counted because Jessie’s guard was down. She was in a highly emotional state, she didn’t have sense enough to cry out or to run away when the man accosted her.”
The Fiend Page 24